Tonight, after eating dinner and popcorn and watching the very hilarious Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, I asked Jack and Macy to put all of the couch cushions back on the couch (because 1. couch cushions need to be on the floor when you're watching a movie with your kids, and 2. couch cushions need to go back on the couch when the movie is over). Macy suddenly had to go to the bathroom and Jack suddenly got too tired to move. And they're dead serious. They aren't trying to be funny or inspire a tickle fight. They honestly think that these excuses will make them exempt from cleaning up their mess.
After some frustration and aggravation, they were told that they would both be going to bed without a story. They stomped upstairs, grumpily brushed their teeth and put on their 'jams, and then complained tearfully when I informed them that, yes, I was serious about them not getting a story. Boo-hoo, I'm a bad dad, which is something I can live with. What I can't live with is having my kids grow up believing that their actions are without consequence.
Two examples of this are as follows:
Betsy went to the grocery store today. I asked Jack to help me unload the van. He threw a huge fit. I made him help anyway. I handed him the lightest bag I could find. It had potato chips and English muffins in it, I think. So, taking the bag, Jack stomps off and then slams the bag down on the ground complaining that it's too heavy. He was sent to his room. Upon further inspection it was discovered that the bag also contained a dozen eggs, five of which were now broken. He paid for the eggs out of his own money.
Last week Jack came home from school with a stack of worksheets that had only been partially completed. Some of them had only one or two questions filled in while others where almost completely done. He informed us very sincerely that they did not need to be completed and that he did not know why they were sent home. About fifteen minutes ago he came downstairs fighting back tears. He told me that he thinks he was supposed to finish those papers and hand them in tomorrow morning. Now he's afraid he'll get in trouble for not having them done. "Sorry, Jack. It too late to do anything about that now. You need to go back to bed."
Lesson learned? I'm going to hope he takes after his mother in this department, because I certainly would have learned nothing were I he.
And since this post isn't very funny, I offer you this gift:
If you're wondering what to get me for Christmas, look no further.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
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